The Girl Detective Megapack: 25 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Mildred A. Wirt

  “Oh—well,” Sim temporized. Then, as a distant rustle of footsteps in the dried leaves was heard, she added in a lower voice: “Here comes your hero!”

  Arden glanced toward where Sim indicated. Tom Scott, the good-looking young fellow who was assistant to grim and dour old Anson Yaeger, was swinging along beneath the trees toward the girls. As he caught sight of them he paused, looked behind him as if to see that a way of retreat was clear, and then, with a shrug of his shoulders as if shaking off a weight, advanced again.

  Not only to the eyes of Arden, but to those of her chums, it was evident a great change had taken place in Tom Scott. For one thing, he no longer wore blue overalls. He was attired in a well-fitting gray business suit. Instead of clumsy boots his feet had on neat ties well polished.

  “How nice he looks!” murmured Terry. “Why!” she exclaimed. “He’s shaved off his mustache. I’m sure he had one when I saw him raking up leaves a couple of days ago!”

  “Yes, he has,” agreed Sim. “But what of it? I think he looks better without it.”

  “Hush! He’ll hear you,” warned Arden. She was staring in a strange manner at the young man.

  “He’s coming right this way,” went on Sim in a low voice. “Can’t we do something besides standing here and staring at him as though we came here purposely to see him? Walk, talk—do something!”

  “Let’s pretend we’re after some apples,” suggested Terry, stooping down but gathering only a small nubbin.

  Sim followed her example, but Arden appeared to be fascinated by the oncoming Tom Scott. She did not move or speak. She just stared at him in a way that would have drawn rebukes from her chums had they seen her fixed gaze.

  Tom Scott came on, grinning cheerfully, as he was close to the girls, disclosing white, perfect teeth.

  “Altogether too good-looking for a gardener at a girls’ college,” Sim found herself reflecting as she looked up.

  “We—we thought we’d take a few apples,” faltered Terry. “I suppose there—there’s no—objection.”

  By this time she and Sim were aware of Arden’s queer actions or, rather, lack of action, for Arden was still motionlessly staring.

  “Try one of these,” suggested Tom Scott, reaching up and picking off a perfect apple from a branch over his head. “You’ll find the flavor rather good.” He handed the apple to Arden.

  “Thank you,” she said, in a toneless voice. “What kind is it?”

  “Spitzenberg. A very choice variety. You’ll not find many of them around here. This is the only orchard I know of where they grow.”

  “How nice—I mean how strange,” murmured Arden. She was not looking at the apple. She was looking at Tom Scott, and she asked: “Have you recovered from your—your accident?”

  “Oh!” He laughed. “You mean when the black ram butted me? For it was the sable beast that knocked me out. Yes, thank you, I’m all over that. It wasn’t much. Too bad I didn’t do for that beast before he had a chance at the chaplain. He fared worse than I did—the chaplain, I mean.”

  “Yes, he did,” agreed Sim. “But you saved Arden from the same ram.”

  “It so happened,” admitted the good-looking gardener.

  “Thank you,” said Terry as Tom gave her an apple like the one he had handed to Arden and then passed one to Sim.

  “Well, I must be going,” said Tom Scott. “I have an errand in town and—”

  “Just a minute!” cried Arden excitedly. In all this time she had not removed her gaze from the young man’s face, not even to munch her apple, as Terry and Sim were doing with theirs. “Wait, please—!”

  The young gardener stood uncertain, his eyes roving from one girl to the other and back to Arden.

  “You—you—” faltered Arden. “I know! Yes, I’m certain now! You are Harry Pangborn!”

  “Arden!” gasped Sim. “Arden!”

  “What are you saying?” exclaimed Terry, dropping her half-eaten apple.

  “This is the man we saw in the post office!” went on Arden, her words and breath coming rapidly. “I mean he’s the picture we saw—I mean he is the original of the man wanted in the police poster. You are, aren’t you?” she challenged.

  CHAPTER XXVII

  A Telegram

  For a moment it seemed as if the young man was going to deny Arden’s statement or at least flee from the scene. But again he smiled in a disarming and friendly fashion, shrugged his shoulders as though getting rid of another weight, and, spreading his hands in a helpless and surrendering gesture, said:

  “Yes, I am Harry Pangborn. You have found me out. I thought it wouldn’t be long after I shaved off my mustache. Well, I’m just as glad it happened this way since it had to happen. I was about to end the little masquerade, anyhow.”

  “Oh, please let us end it!” begged Arden. “I mean if we are allowed to tell—” She seemed confused and blushed.

  “Yes, I know,” said young Mr. Pangborn. “Well, have it your way. I would rather see you profit by it than anyone else. You did me a favor the night the ram came at me.”

  “But what does it all mean?” asked Sim.

  “Why did you give up your inheritance of millions to come here as a gardener’s helper?” asked Terry.

  “It’s a short story, simple enough, and perhaps you may not believe it,” said Harry Pangborn, “but I just didn’t want my inheritance.”

  “Not your grandfather’s wealth?” asked Arden.

  “Well, perhaps it would be more exact to say I was in no hurry for it. Oh, I’m not going to pass it up altogether,” he laughed. “But here’s the story briefly. As the poster explains, I disappeared about the time I was to inherit a large sum. But there was nothing criminal in it, and I wasn’t kidnapped as some thought. All my life I have wanted to be the owner of a big farm estate, ever since I used to go to my grandfather’s farm when I was a boy. I knew I could inherit the farm all right, but I wanted to know something about running one, especially an orchard, since I hope to raise fancy apples.

  “I figured that the best way to learn from the ground up, so to speak, would be to get a job on a farm or an orchard. I knew I couldn’t do it under my own name. I’d have a lot of tabloid paper reporters after me—a millionaire apple grower and such rot. So I just quietly disappeared, as I knew those in charge of the estate I was to inherit would object, and I roved around. I finally landed here, and I may say I like the place very much.” He smiled frankly at the three attractive girls. “I liked everything about it but the ram. But now the time has come to end the masquerade. I’ve learned what I wanted to learn. Old Anson is a good teacher, if he isn’t all he should be in other ways. He taught me many secrets of the soil.”

  “Why did you happen to come to Cedar Ridge?” asked Arden. “The poster said you might be found around here.”

  “I know it did. I ran a risk in coming here. But I didn’t just happen to. You see, my grandfather and Rev. Dr. Bordmust are old college chums. I had that in mind when I came to this college farm as assistant gardener. In case of accident I wanted someone who knew me to know where I was. So I told my story to your chaplain, swore him to secrecy, though much against his will, and then I just let matters drift along.

  “More than once Dr. Bordmust urged me to give up what he called my mad scheme, and he half threatened to disclose everything. But I prevailed on him to wait just a little longer. But finally, one night just before he was hurt by the ram, he came to see me in my garden residence and said he would keep silent no longer. Then, as I had gotten all I wanted to in the way of apple knowledge, I agreed to do the disclosing myself. This made Dr. Bordmust easier in his mind. It was when he was going home through the orchard, after leaving me, that he was attacked. I can’t tell you how badly I felt over it.”

  “Yes, it was too bad,” agreed Arden, still gasping with astonishment.

  “Say,” broke in Sim, “was it you who rang the alarm bell?”

  Harry Pangborn smiled again and said:

  “No! It
was Anson who did it.”

  “Anson!” chorused the surprised three.

  “Yes. I am on my way to the dean now, before I go to town, to tell her she had better get rid of her gardener. I can do it freely, as it can be proved I have no ulterior motive since I am giving up my place. But old Anson is a man with a warped mind and a queer sense of humor.”

  “Why did he ring the bell?” asked Terry.

  “And how?” asked Arden.

  “He reached up with a long-handled rake and tangled the teeth in the rope,” said Mr. Pangborn. “That was his method. As for his reason, well, it may have been one of several.

  “But slyly ringing the alarm bell with the rake and then running away wasn’t all of his peculiar sport,” went on Mr. Pangborn.

  “What else did he do?” asked Terry.

  “Once I caught him perched up on the ledge of one of the high gymnasium windows, peering in. He jumped down and ran away as I came along the walk, but I had a chance to see him, and also to note that he was wearing some kind of a mask, that of an evil old man.”

  “Oh!” gasped Sim. “The face you saw at the dance, Arden!”

  “Yes, it must have been,” Arden agreed.

  “Oh, then you saw that trick?” asked Mr. Pangborn.

  “I just had a glimpse of a face at the window,” Arden answered. “Then the bell rang, and we all hurried out to try to solve the mystery.”

  “Yes, that was the night,” young Mr. Pangborn agreed.

  “But what could he hope to gain by such a trick?” asked Arden. “He really didn’t frighten me.”

  “I think that was to have been the start of a campaign on his part for a certain purpose,” the late Tom Scott answered. “He probably thought the girls would report to the dean about a strange face peering in at them out of the night. Then Anson, very likely, might have offered to drive the Peeping Tom away, which he could easily do by just ceasing his own antics. In this way he would be commended, I think he expected.”

  “How strange!” murmured Sim.

  “He must be crazy!” echoed Terry.

  “Do you think,” asked Arden, “that he may have done it all as a joke? Perhaps he was joking the time he threatened Terry and me.”

  Mr. Pangborn indicated his disbelief in the joke theory by shaking his head. Then he added:

  “He may have had very queer ideas as to what was a joke, but I really think he was building up a case for himself.”

  “A case for himself?” asked Terry.

  “Yes. When he had rung the bell enough times and it had become a sort of terrifying mystery, I think he intended to have it solved in a way that would not implicate him and so gain credit and perhaps a raise in wages. That’s only a theory, but it may be true. One night I spied on him, discovered his trick, and was preparing to denounce him when the chaplain forced me to give up my masquerade. So it’s all over, and you are the first, outside of Dr. Bordmust, who knows my secret. And I suppose you won’t keep it long?”

  “We just can’t!” said Arden. “As soon as I saw you coming along just now I knew you were the man of the poster. I half recognized you before, but the mustache deceived me. I’ve done a lot of foolish things trying to remember the two faces—yours and the one on the poster.”

  “Well, anyhow, Arden,” said Sim, “it was fun doing it.”

  “Yes, it was,” Arden agreed. “But, Mr. Pangborn, will you let us notify the police or lawyers and claim the reward?”

  “I would prefer to have you notify the lawyers,” he said genially.

  “We don’t want the money for ourselves,” Terry made haste to explain. “We are going to give it to the dean to have the swimming pool repaired for Sim.”

  “For Sim?”

  “Yes,” exclaimed Arden, indicating the blushing Miss Westover. “She threatens to leave college because she can’t go in the pool.”

  “Arden!” rebuked Sim.

  “Then you will let us notify the lawyers that you are here?” persisted Arden.

  “Please!” begged Terry in a way she had.

  “Well,” he laughed, “I suppose I must. I guess my little adventure is over. Go on—tell on me!”

  “How wonderful!” cried Arden, while Sim and Terry looked at each other happily.

  “I had about made up my mind, Arden,” said Sim, “not to go home after all. Now, of course, I’ll stay, with the prospect of the pool. I’ll stay until I’m sent home.”

  “That’s fine, Sim!” Arden declared. “Everything is coming out so beautifully!”

  “We can have the pool fixed, Sim isn’t going to leave us, and the horrid old ram is caught,” murmured Terry.

  “And the mystery of the bell is explained,” added Sim.

  “Have you a piece of paper?” suddenly asked Mr. Pangborn after a vain search in his own pockets.

  “We nearly always carry books and papers,” said Sim, “but this morning—” She looked helplessly at her chums.

  “Here!” exclaimed Arden. “Use the back of this envelope. It’s the letter you gave me to keep, Sim. I was always afraid she’d mail it herself if I left it around,” she explained to Terry, “so I’ve been carrying it with me.”

  She handed the crumpled envelope to the young man, who had managed to find a pencil, and he wrote on it quickly. He handed the envelope back to Arden.

  “There,” he said. “That’s a telegram to my lawyers. Sign your name, send it, and the reward is yours.”

  “You won’t run away meanwhile, will you?” asked Arden shyly.

  “No, I’ll stay around or go and give myself up, as you direct—just so you’ll get the money.” He seemed happy to comply.

  “Thanks, so much!” Arden said warmly. “Do you mind if we go send this telegram right away—before we have to report in class?”

  “Run along,” he said, laughing. “I’ll go telephone my people and relieve their anxiety. Though I don’t really believe they were worried. I’ve traveled pretty much around the world alone and been out of touch with them for months at a time.”

  “Good-bye!” chorused the three freshmen as they literally “ran along” to the main building to telegraph the surprising message to the lawyers named on the poster. Harry Pangborn, a quizzical smile on his face, watched them go.

  “Well, it was fun while it lasted,” he murmured as he swung on through the orchard. “And I think it did me good. Those are mighty pretty girls. I wouldn’t mind knowing them—after I come into my kingdom,” he chuckled. “Perhaps I may. Who knows?”

  The girl at the college telephone switchboard was almost as excited as the breathless Arden, who asked to be connected with Western Union and then dictated the startling news of the missing heir.

  “This will be something for the papers!” thought the telephone operator. And it was—later.

  Terry and Sim waited impatiently outside the booth for Arden to emerge. Girls clustered around them, and many were the exclamations of wonder, delight, and surprise as the news was told.

  “Now we must go inform the dean,” said Terry as she came out, flustered but triumphant.

  On the way to Miss Anklon’s office the girls passed the college post boxes, where each girl had a niche of her own, with a dial lock, for incoming mail. Sim begged them to wait while she looked in her box. There was a letter slanting to one side.

  “Oh, I have one!” Sim announced as she twirled the combination and took out the missive.

  “Who’s it from?” asked Terry before Sim had half read it. But she was quick to answer:

  “It’s from Ed Anderson. He wants me to go to a dance during the Thanksgiving holidays. I didn’t think he’d ever speak to me again after the way I disappeared at the tea dance.”

  At this news Arden and Terry decided to look in their boxes.

  “You’re not so much!” Terry cried. “I have a letter myself. It’s from Dick Randall!”

  “Me too!” announced Arden, succinctly if not grammatically. “It’s from Jim Todd.”

 
; “What fun!” exclaimed Sim. “And the holidays begin the end of next week.”

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  A Disturbing Message

  Hardly realizing the good fortune that had come to them so unexpectedly, and while they were rejoicing over their letters and the prospects of the Thanksgiving holidays, with dances in the offing, Arden, Terry, and Sim saw one of the college messengers making her way toward them through a throng of other students. For the messengers were young women who, like the waitresses, were working their way through Cedar Ridge by making themselves useful to the dean.

  “I have a message for you,” said this girl, without smiling. She looked at Arden but included Sim and Terry.

  “A message for me?” Arden exclaimed. Could the Pangborn lawyers have sent the reward money by telegraph already?

  “Yes, you three young ladies must report to the dean at once.”

  “Whew!” faintly whistled Sim.

  “What’s the idea?” asked Terry.

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” answered the bearer of what was generally considered ill tidings. “But you had better see her at once.”

  “Come on!” urged Arden. “Let’s get it over with. I had half a mind to go there, anyhow, and tell her the news.”

  “Maybe she’s heard it already,” suggested Terry.

  “More likely,” suggested Sim gloomily, “she’s heard we were trying to flirt with the good-looking assistant gardener and we’re going to be expelled. If she sends us home, Arden, don’t you give her a penny of that reward money!”

  “No!” exclaimed Terry. “Not a cent!”

  “Well,” said Arden doubtfully, “I don’t know—” and then she urged her two chums on toward the dean’s office while little groups of other girls, among which strange rumors were filtering, watched the three freshmen, with a variety of expressions.

  “Come in,” greeted Miss Anklon as Arden knocked. And when Sim and Terry had filed in behind her it needed but one look at the smiling face of the dean to let them know they were meeting her on a different footing than ever before.

  “For Tiddy was actually grinning!” Sim told some of her friends later.